The Doctor Gets Sherlocked
by Hawk197
Summary: "'Didn't I already tell you who I am? No? Okay, I'm the Doctor. Hello.'" "'You're Sherlock Holmes, the high-f-function sociopath, oh, this is brilliant!" 'It was like this "Doctor" didn't exist.' "'Doctor, you really should get over that girl of yours. She wasn't going to stay with you forever.'" "'Stupid shape-changing Lymiians'" '"GO!"'


Author's Note: First, before we start, I do not own either BBC Sherlock or BBC Doctor Who, nor any affiliated trademarks. And, much as I would like to claim all the credit for this idea, it actually came from Ravneclaw667 and her short story that followed the same basic plotline, but, having such a fantastic idea thrown at me, I couldn't resist expanding on it. I did keep some important points from her original idea in, with a few, ah… modifications. Enjoy, and feel free to PM Ravenclaw667 and tell her how genius the plotline (and the original author) is.

 _ **No one watching that day could have told you much about what had happened. Two men, one light and fair, one dark and dangerous, both with their own troubled minds, both with their mysteries. No one watching could have said what caused them to be pulled together, but pulled together they were, the man in the box and the man from Baker Street.**_

Sherlock

Sherlock Holmes sat bolt upright, pale green eyes flying open. He had heard a noise out on the street. Not typical London car honks, shouting, etc., no, this was something more… alien in origin.

He threw himself off the couch, pulled on his trench coat, and unceremoniously kicked open the doors, taking the stairs three at a time. Without any hesitation, he jerked open the outside door and was faced with… nothing. Baker Street was silent. Sherlock couldn't hear any unfamiliar voices or footsteps, and there wasn't a license plate on the street he didn't already know. There was only a blue mid-1900's police box sitting in front of the flat on the other side of the road. A blue 1950's police box that hadn't been there earlier that morning. _It could have been built today. No, I would have heard it. Could have been brought in by car or truck, but, no tire prints in the grass around it. The grass is flattened in a six-foot radius around it, but there are no footprints within that area, that can't be right, there isn't any evidence of it being brought in, even if it had been carried in, there would have been footprints. How is it here? Where did it come from? It couldn't have... unless … no. It couldn't have simply_ appeared _. That's not possible._

Sherlock paced in a large circle around the outside, eyes drinking in every detail. _None of the windows are cracked, and yet the corners and bottom are scraped, showing signs of transport, movement, movement that was not very kind to the box. So, the person that uses it, whatever it might be used for, is careful, but not too careful. No exhaust pipe, no wheels, no outward sign of transport method, no plausible cause of the scuffing on the corners and edges. Odd. Deep scrape on the right door. Car? No, it runs on a high upward diagonal, a car couldn't cause as scratch like that. Scuff marks on the threshold, someone's been coming out of here a lot, and whoever that it is often moving quickly, probably running. Possibly multiple someones, due to the marks from blue, black, and green and purple shoes still on the threshold. The outside color is faded, hasn't been redone in years, no evidence of any attempt to repair the damage, so, the primary someone is male, probably hasn't had much, if any, female influence in his life. No, pink thread caught in a crack on the outside, some mild female influence, so, he's a stubborn chap, as women would undoubtedly make a fuss about the state of disrepair the box is in, and would try to do something about it. Upper right-hand side of the doorway is worn, right handle is rubbed smooth, he has lived in here for a while, and is also right-handed. Possible-_

Before Sherlock could finish observing, the right door flew open. A tall, skinny man in a brown trench coat, blue suit underneath, and spiked bangs falling every which way came flying out, red Converse slipping on the pavement before regaining traction. "Gotta lead them away from the Tardis!" Sherlock heard him growl under his breath. The man turned, pulled a small, metallic silver object out of his pocket and aimed it at the box. A blue light lit up the end, and an artificial-sounding hum emanated from the… stick. Sherlock heard the lock inside the door click shut.

Sherlock stood frozen for a moment, then, as the man turned the corner, began to run after him, shouting, 'Wait. Wait! Who are you?'

The man skidded to a stop, turning to face Sherlock. 'Oh!' He exclaimed, stammering slightly in his excitement. 'You're Sherlock Holmes, the high-f-functioning sociopath, oh, this is _brilliant_ , I mean, you're brilliant, I mean… well… I'm a bit of a fan of yours - I mean, geniuses have to stick together, because otherwise we end up yelling pointlessly at people too slow to keep up, much less understand.'

Sherlock felt a tiny twitch of an almost-smile turn up the corner of his mouth, but cocked his head slightly to disguise the movement. 'Well said. Now, who did you say you were? Wait.' he said, seeing that the man was about to try to push past him. Sherlock stepped forward, trying to catch his arm, but the other man evaded Sherlock effortlessly. 'Wait! Where are you going?! _Wait!'_ He called as the trench coat started to bob away quite rapidly.

The man stopped for the second time, turning back to Sherlock as he pulled on a pair of black-rimmed glasses. 'Didn't I already tell you who I am? No? Okay, I'm the Doctor. Hello.' His eyes slid up to fix on something behind Sherlock. ' And I need to be far away before those guys catch up to me.' He pointed behind and slightly above Sherlock. Sherlock turned, trying to find whoever this 'doctor' had pointed at, and, clear at the end of Baker Street, a man all in black caught his gaze as he turned down a sidestreet, cold contempt shining in his eyes. Sherlock turned back, mouth open to ask more questions, but the 'doctor' was nowhere in sight.

The Doctor

'Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid!'_ the Doctor hissed under his breath as he ran down Baker Street. Yes, he'd met Sherlock freaking Holmes, but, still, he'd been lax and had wasted precious time talking to him. _Stupid!_

'Stupid shape-changing Lymiians!' he shouted into the rain that had started to fall. 'Why do the interstellar criminals always pick on _me?!_ Pick on Captain Kirk, or Emmett Brown, or, I dunno, Harry Potter (love that chap), or-or Andrew Wiggins, or…just, someone else! For once!' Fortunately, the rain did not reply.

Then, the Doctor saw a man in a lime-green trench coat step out onto the street in front of him.

'Ugh.' The Doctor said, sliding to a stop. 'Seriously? You're trying to blend in as a human, and you're wearing _that_?'

The creature hissed.

'I mean," the Doctor said, laughing, "I've seen some pretty bad fashion violations, I've even worn some pretty bad fashion violations, but that is easily one of the worst I'm going to turn around and run away now. _Allons-y!_ '

And just like that, he was running again.

Sherlock

Sherlock stood still where the 'doctor' had left him for a moment, turning the object in his hands end over end, again and again, before heading back into his flat. Mrs Hudson was snoring happily in her room, and there seemed to be a definite lack of a certain sometimes-annoying noise, meaning that John was asleep as well. Sherlock landed back on the sofa, long legs thrown haphazardly over the armrest, folded his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling, pondering. Pondering, in particular, on the blue box. _How was it here, on Baker Street? What was its significance? Who was that '_ doctor' _? How was he related to this blue box?_ Why _was he here?_

Nothing lined up.

Sherlock closed his eyes and, leaping off the balcony of the present, landed on the ground level of his mind palace.

He rose from where he had landed inside his library. He sprang forward, tearing books of the shelf, flipping them open and scanning the pages. When that produced no answers, he slammed closed the book in his hand, and sprinted to the other side of the room, yanking open the door and bursting out into the hallway. He sprinted down, wrenching open doors, shuffling through stacks of paper, digging, searching, hunting for any reference that contained both a man who called himself 'the Doctor' and a blue police public call box. Sherlock tore through the stores of information stored and folded into his mind, but, no matter how hard and deep he searched, he could find nothing. There were references to 'The Doctor,' some with mentions of a 'blue box,' scattered all across history, but no 'Doctors' that met the description of the man he had met. There was one from the 1800's that held certain similarities, one whose story involved the Queen and a 'werewolf,' but it also spoke of a blonde girl, the cause of Sherlock discounting it. There was nothing, anywhere. It was like _this_ 'Doctor' did not even exist.

The feeling of not knowing burning him from the inside out, Sherlock abruptly opened his eyes into the present, threw his feet off the abused couch, stood up, and, slamming the door behind him, raced out to investigate the mysterious police box.

The Doctor

The Doctor ran past the door of 221B Baker Street, laughing maniacally as a herd of malicious aliens disguised as humans thundered after him, the lead alien in a fluorescent green trench coat and hot pink pumps.

He shouted over his shoulder at them, 'Fair warning: I run for a living, and you have absolutely no hope of ever ca- Oh, look, another one, hello! Okay, let's run this way now!' He turned and ran across the grass of the flat next to 221B, hoping the owner wouldn't open the door and flip him off again.

'Let's go circle the block again!' the Doctor shouted cheerily at the herd. After running persistently for a few moments, the Doctor looked back over his shoulder and silently counted all 67… 68 of the pursuing Lymiians. 'Thank heavens they haven't figured out circling around the other side.' the Doctor muttered. Looking ahead, he skidded to a stop on the grass. 'Spoke too soon. Again. Oh. That could be a bit of a problem. I appear to have been outmaneuvered.'

Sherlock

'Impossible.' Sherlock muttered to himself. "And, yet, obviously not. Oh, this is GENIUS.' He said, a smile, fast and fleeting, breaking out across his face. Walking in circles, staring up at the high-above ceiling, he began plying it with questions. 'How is all of this fit in here? How is this room forced into here without ripping open the edges of space itself? How…?' his voice faded away as he left the control room out the left door then regained volume as he reappeared in the right. '-Should be impossible!' He paused, taking note of where he was. 'Incredible!' he said, a little numbly. 'I followed a completely straight path, without any bends, and yet somehow end up on the other side of the room I left from. Incredible!' he said again.

'If this" box" can alter space, perhaps...' Sherlock pulled off his watch and placed it on the console. He then pulled out his spare watch and re-left out the left door. He returned in the right. Sherlock ran up and checked the watch on console. Then double checked it. Then triple checked it. 'No. No-no-no-no.' he muttered, feeling an icy wave drag through him. The watch he had taken with him showed that fifteen minutes had passed. The watch he had left behind showed only twenty _seconds_ had passed. They had been synchronized when he had left.

 _It can bend time. This 'Tardis' can_ bend TIME. 'This… is so… _impossible._ ' Sherlock said softly.

Then, he heard the lock behind him click.

The Doctor

'Okay. Detour time!' The Doctor jumped up and latched onto the back balcony of the fire escape on the building closest to him. He pulled himself up, fingers scrabbling frantically on the railing before regaining hold. He swung his legs up over the rails and ran to the door, pulling it open, running in an awkward little crouch in case Neon-Green-Trench-Coat decided to launch something at his head. Again.

The Doctor found himself in the main room of a fairly ordinary flat - with the exception of the skull sitting on the hearth. The Doctor could see through an open doorway into the kitchen where what appeared to be a platter of human fingernails lay on the table. The refrigerator door was open, mostly concealing the pale-haired man behind it. The man closed the door, and, sighing, turned to face the Doctor. 'Sherlock, what have I told you - You're. Not. Sherlock. Erm, h-ha-have you seen him recently?'

'Oh, you must be Doctor John H Watson - I'm a Doctor myself, actually - Sherlock was out front, say, five minutes ago, but, if I were you, I would go lock myself in the bedroom, because you might have some unfriendly peoples coming through here, erm,' he glanced behind him, '-rather shortly. Good day!' The Doctor threw open the doors to the stairs and took them three at a time, shouting 'Hello, Mrs Hudson!' as he nearly knocked her over on his way down. He ran out the door of 221B and made a mad dash to the flat across the street. As he ran, he dug in his bigger-on-the-inside pockets and fished out the Tardis key. He leaped to the door and shoved the key into the keyhole. He lept in, turned and slammed the door closed behind him, turning the lock with a _click._

'Whew. Let's not do that again.' he said, panting. After pausing to catch his breath, he turned back around, and tensed at the sight of tall man in a long black trench coat standing with his back to the Doctor. The Doctor hardly dared to breathe as the man turned slowly around to face him.

'Hello again, Doctor.' said Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock

The Doctor stared wide-eyed at Sherlock, mouth working without producing any noise, before 'H-h-h-how did you get in?' finally made it out.

Sherlock pulled the metallic lighty thing out of his pocket and spun it lightly between long, thin fingers. 'Simple. When you ran past me, I happened to intercept this on the way to your pocket. I held your attention for a moment, just long enough to make sure you hadn't noticed, but immediately afterward your attention was otherwise occupied; You never thought to look and see if something wasn't there that should have been. Now, slide-dial on the side, each setting marked with a number and a word, the word has to correlate with what that setting works on, because, you had it set on one called "67-89-L (Lock)", but, "unlock" actually is setting 27-13-X, which tells me you get locked out of this "Tardis" -don't look at me like that, you called it "the Tardis" when you came running out- much more often then you have to lock the outside, meaning that you have an outside key, but often forget, lose, or can't find it. I only had to search for the setting that had "-(Unlock)" tacked onto the end of the numbers -it doesn't have a wood setting, did you know that? Of course you did- then put this.. tool on that setting , put myself in the same position you were in, push the little button on the side, hope it works, and here I am. And here you are. And what a truly remarkable place it is, Doctor. How?'

The Doctor straightened slightly. 'What, this? C'mon, Time Lords learned to harness the power of a time-frozen collapsing star years ago, this is nothing new. Well, you humans won't get anywhere near this sort of technology until the 47th century, and even then, you won't discover time-locks and -freezes until about the 64th, but that not what you asked. Basically, Sherlock, ...well, respected genius you may be, the answer is incredibly complex, and I honestly doubt that you could keep up with all of it, so, in essence, deep inside the Tardis is a time-locked star perpetually going supernova without actually, y'know, imploding. And, it would be an absolute disaster for this half of the universe if all that potential energy were released, so, we like to avoid crashing whenever we can.'

Sherlock nodded slowly. 'I see. In short, don't touch the red button."

The Doctor shrugged, pointing at the consol behind Sherlock. "Well, you'd probably be just fine pushing that one, it only turns off the gravity, but, yes, no touching red buttons, so to speak, or until otherwise directed.

'And, respected genius you may be, you're not fooling me. Your pupils are dilated, you're breathing harder than a _detective_ would be if he had merely run from 221B to here, or even if he had ran down the doorway loop a few times. Your shoulder are tense, hunching in, you're used to being the only genius in the room, you don't normally hunch over like that. You're completely freaked out on the inside, aren't you, because this, my Tardis, defies the laws of nature as you know them. Well, I'm the Doctor. I'm just a little bit impossible, as is just about everything around 'd best get used to it.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly, his mouth a hard, thin pinch. 'Are you accusing me of being… _Unnerved_ by all this? Am I _afraid_ , Doctor?'

'Well, I wouldn't have said it outright, but-'

'Because, Doctor, you really should get over that girl of yours. She wasn't going to stay with you forever.'

Sherlock watched the Doctor pale, mouth forming the shape of 'r', and knew he had guessed correctly.

Sherlock watched the Doctor's face, gauging his reaction as he spoke. 'Favorite flower, Doctor? I'm betting it's a… Rose, isn't it? What was her name, then? Rosa? No, it was just Rose, wasn't it? Let me guess: blonde hair, blue- no,... _brown_ eyes, had a pink jacket she was rather fond of, smiled a lot, didn't she, Doctor? _Oh_ , she left you _recently_ , didn't she? She was rather young, wasn't she, now how did her mother take to that?'

Almost before Sherlock knew what was happening, the Doctor had an identical metal… stick-thing in his hand and aimed directly at Sherlock's face. The Doctor took small, but rather menacing steps towards Sherlock as he said "Don't ever speak of her like that again. I know what you were implying, I'm not an idiot, and I'm telling you you could not be further from the truth. Rose was my friend, and nothing more.'

'But you wanted her to be more, didn't you? But she left you - _oh_ , but it wasn't by choice, was it? She was _taken_ from you, wasn't she?' Sherlock shook his head with mock sadness. 'Poor Doctor.'

The Doctor's mouth was pinched tightly, and the the skin around his eyes was tight with pain. 'Y'know, for some reason, I thought you were better than all the rest of them, but, I was wrong. You're nothing more than just an everyday, ordinary _psychopath_ , aren't you?!' the Doctor spit.

Sherlock gritted his teeth. "I am a _sociopath_ , not a bloody _psychopath_ , and it'll do you good to know the difference, Doctor!' he hissed back.

"Don't insult my friends!" the Doctor's voice rose.

"Then don't insult my intelligence!' Sherlock seethed.

'I never said a _word_ about your intelligence, but you said _plenty_ about Rose." The Doctor yelled.

'I never said a negative word about Rose, your mind filled the rest in, Doctor! _Don't you_ dare _call me a psychopath,_ I have _far_ surpassed that!'

'I'm a time traveller. You know very little in comparison, _child_.' the Doctor spat.

Both men stood glaring at each other for several long moments. Sherlock was on the verge just outright walking out of the Tardis when the Doctor let out a hoarse chuckle, quickly growing into a genuine outright laugh. Sherlock was insulted for a moment, until he reflected on how ridiculous that little shouting match would have been if it had been anyone else, and he felt a faint stirring of amusement rise in his chest as well.

The Doctor, still laughing, threw his arm around Sherlock and started leading him to the door. 'Okay, let's call a truce… after you make me coffee.'

'Why would I do that when we could make John do it instead?' Sherlock asked.

The Doctor shrugged. 'Good point. Let's go then! _Allons-y!_ '

'Doctor, you can take the arm off of me now.'

The Doctor did, but nudged Sherlock with his elbow. "Psychopath.' he said softly.

Sherlock looked down his nose at the Doctor. "Rose-lover.'

The Doctor shook his head, the smile fading slightly. "Shut up, Sherlock.'

'Only after you do, Doctor.'

'Yeah, like _that'll_ ever happen.'

 _ **No one watching could have said why the two men were laughing when they emerged from the blue police box. They had the feel of newly made friends, friends that, maybe at one point, had been enemies. No one watching could have said why they seemed so at ease with one another, but, before very long, both stepped into a door on Baker Street and vanished into the depths within.**_

1 ½ years later

The Doctor

The Doctor stood outside the Tardis, staring up at Sherlock's flat at 221B Baker Street. Or, rather, what _had been_ Sherlock's flat. 'Suicide.' he said softly. He still couldn't believe it. Sherlock, his friend, sometimes enemy when he was being jerkish, was… gone. No regenerations for the human. Maybe that's why it felt so unreal. Sherlock had seemed to be so… so Time Lord at times. He had been more than the other humans the Doctor had known.

'I wasn't ready for you to go, my friend. When I was with you… I could almost pretend Gallifrey was still alive. Like all of them were still alive. I can never thank you enough for that.' He said, his voice carrying in the empty street. Shaking his head, mouth pressed tightly together, he turned back and headed into the Tardis.

He leaned against the console, shoulder tensed, knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge, struggling not to cry.

'DAMAGE, SHERLOCK! WHY?!' He finally shouted, slamming his hand down on the console. "Why would you commit suicide? Why would you do that me?' His voice cracked, and he put his face in his hands, sliding down the slanted slope of the console.

'Oh, Doctor, do stop being so _sentimental._ It's unbecoming.''

The Doctor jumped at the unexpected voice, jumping around to see a familiar black-clad figure sitting on the couch seat, eyes closed. Without opening his eyes, the man raised an eyebrow. 'I believe you owe me a trip to a certain museum.' said Sherlock Holmes. He opened an eye, looking at the Doctor, a faint smile pulling up the corners of his mouth.

The Doctor took a few shaky steps towards him. Sherlock closed his eye.

The Doctor punched him.

Sherlock jumped, head snapping off to the side, a red flush creeping across his cheekbones. He glared at the Doctor, who glared right back. 'What the word edited was that for?!' He growled.

Anger colouring his face, the Doctor said, low and furious, 'You let me believe you were _dead_ Sherlock. I'm not one who takes death lightly. What was I supposed to do, let you sashay into here and prance about like you think you're oh so clever?!'

Still glaring, Sherlock retorted, 'That's what I do everywhere else!'

Lips pressed together, the Doctor demanded, ' _Does this look like "EVERYWHERE ELSE"?!'_

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. 'Well...' he said, imitating the Doctor.

The Doctor put his head in his hands. 'Okay, stop it. Just.. stop it. You're a bloody jerk, and I hope you feel ashamed of what you've done and don't move because I'm about to hug you and I really don't want you to kill me and force me to regenerate so soon because I actually like this face.'

Sherlock bolted, or tried to, as the Doctor attacked him, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's chest and clinging like a limpet. 'No, no, _no_ , I am opposed to the hugging, I am very, very opposed!'

'Consider this payback for letting me think you were dead.' the Doctor grunted, still holding on for dear life.

'Oh? What was the punch for, then?!'

'Small victories, Sherlock, small victories.'

Sherlock grabbed the Doctor by the shoulder joint, digging his thumbs into the sensitive nerve cluster deep in the muscle.

'Ow, ow-ow-ow, _okay, I'm letting go already! Freak!'_

'No I'm not.' Sherlock said cooly.

'I really doubt that sometimes.' The Doctor muttered into the grating on the Tardis floor.

'Wimp.'

'Psychopath.'

'Do you _really_ want to start this again, Doctor?'

'Go jump off a building, Sherlock.'

'Been there, done that, got the conspiracy theories to prove it.' Sherlock sounded almost smug.

The Doctor sat up indignantly, mouth opening to spit out a retort of some kind or another, but he stopped, mouth hanging open. He finally closed it again, and made an 'angry' face. 'I really don't like you sometimes, did you know that?'

'Join the club.' Sherlock quipped, throwing himself sideways across the couch seat.

The Doctor stood up, brushed himself off, then started sprinting around the console as per usual.

'So, I discovered this wonderful planet called "Jyzzicx", I think you'll like it, the inhabitants are purple, and their dogs-' He paused dramatically. 'Are green. All of them. And, they can talk! I thought you would get a kick out talking with a dog - Well, you're Sherlock, you don't get a kick out of _anything_ \- D'you think John would want to come? We didn't bring him on our last excursion, maybe-'

'John isn't coming, Doctor. That's final.'

There was something in the low, ferocious way Sherlock spoke those words that made the Doctor look up from the console at him. The Great Detective was glaring at the Doctor with his head tilted down, hiding the bitter twist to his mouth.

'Oh.' The Doctor breathed, expression softening in sympathy. 'He doesn't know you're alive, does he?'

Sherlock raised his chin defiantly, but his voice held just a touch, a faint shiver of emotion. 'No, Doctor, and for his good it _must stay that way_.'

The Doctor nodded, though his eyes shone with an ancient sadness. 'I understand, Sherlock. Sometimes, for their one good, they must be left behind. The ones we care about most are the ones we must stay the furthest away from.'

 _Rose._

'Oh, Doctor.' Sherlock said, a touch of his customary contempt colouring his voice. 'Don't turn this into one of your pathetic little sob-fests. Until the rumours and whispers quiet down, John cannot know that I am alive. It is as simple as that. Do not read anything deeper into it, Doctor, I am a sociopath, I have no emotion reasons for this decision, Doctor, only the logical ones. Don't try to sink me to your idiotic level.'

The Doctor was watching him with a soft, wry smile. 'Good to see to normal, Sher.'

'Don't call me that, you know how I feel about nicknames.' Sherlock said darkly.

The Doctor made a face. 'That's never stopped me before, now has it? However-' He ran around to the other side of the controls. 'I promised you a visit to Jyzzicx, and I fully intend to uphold that promise.'

He stuck his head around the side so he could see Sherlock.

' _Allons-y!"_ He said deliberately, and pulled down the lever.

 _Epilogue_

Sherlock

Hair disheveled, soot streaked across his face, the Doctor gazed flatly at Sherlock from across the wooden platform.

'I can't take you anywhere, can I?' The tone of the Doctor's voice was accusing.

'Well, seeing as how it wasn't actually my fault...' Sherlock began placidly.

'I can't decide who's _worse_ at getting me into trouble, you or Jack.' The Time Lord muttered.

'I should think that the answer would be _you_ , Doctor.' The detective cast a thin-lipped smile at the other man.

'That's low, Sherlock.'

'The truth is only as low as you make it, Doctor.'

The Doctor opened his mouth to respond, then paused, eyes tracking something off to the side of the detective. 'See, Sherlock, I would respond, except, I believe our executioner just arrived.

'Well, I'm ready to run if you are.' Sherlock said mildly as the crowds lining the walls of the arena started chanting, screaming for the two stranger's deaths.

'Oh, brilliant.' The Doctor cast Sherlock a long glance from under his eyelashes, a slow smile creeping across his face.

'GO!'

Sherlock stood in the shade of the great sand dune, watching the blue box fade away into the darkening sky, now-familiar thrumming sound accompanying it. Watching it go, Sherlock felt an odd tug from underneath his ribcage.

 _Blasted emotions._

With a rueful smile, he reminded himself that it was his own fault. Unbidden, the memories the events leading to this arose in his mind.

' _Alrighty, this should be your stop.' Sherlock felt the Doctor look over at him, then pause in his pacing around the Tardis console._

' _Sherlock?'_

 _The detective was sitting cross-legged on the couch seat, eyes closed, much as he had been the last time he had slipped into the Tardis. He was breathing in long, shallow breaths, chest scarcely moving at all._

' _Could I ask a favour of you, Doctor?' He finally asked, not moving from his position at all._

' _Depends on the favour.' The Doctor's voice was wary_

' _Could you take me two or three years into the future?' The Doctor started to ask questions - Typical - but Sherlock, without raising his voice, cut him off. 'I need to disappear for a while, Doctor, until everything has settled. The world believes I am dead, and I cannot risk someone accidentally discovering the truth: that Moriarty couldn't defeat me, that I am still here, still alive.'_

 _The Doctor stood still for a moment, then shook his head. 'I'm sorry, Sherlock, I can't do that.'_

' _Doctor-' Holmes started, but this time, it was the Doctor that did the cutting off. 'Sherlock, I cannot erase you from your own timeline. I can't let you skip a year or two, you are are too deeply ingrained into events, the whole world has heard your name, and I cannot interfere directly with world-changing events. If you are to remain hidden, you must do so on your own, without my assistance.'_

 _Sherlock inclined his head slightly. 'I understand. Meddling timelines could unintentionally cause a contradiction, leading to a paradox in time.'_

' _Finally, someone who gets it!' The Doctor exclaimed, then, realizing it was time to be serious, quickly calmed down._

' _No, I cannot help you disappear from time, but what I can do is take you far away from London, let you run about in… Asia for a while, if you wanted.' The Doctor said, clearly deciding right then and there that Asia was the place to be._

 _Sherlock sucked a sharp breath, a wave of -_ No, don't feel, don't become attached, Sherlock - _then turned to look at the Doctor, face emotionless, but eyes saying more than the high functioning sociopath could put into words. 'If you would.'_

 _The Doctor nodded, not looking at the human detective, and began spinning dials again._

' _Now, don't you cause any trouble for me, Sherlock.' The Doctor said with a smile, just before the doors closed for the last time._

'I will see you again, Doctor.' Sherlock Holmes said softly as the Tardis finished dematerialising. 'You can't be rid of me forever.'

With that, he spun on his heel and flipped up his collar, striding out into the Gobi Desert. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth; He was alone, in a land where no-one knew him, a land where he didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes, he could leave that life behind - For a little while - , and, surprisingly, he was alright with that.

The wind gusted gently, wiping his footprints from the sand particle by particle , erasing all evidence that the Great Detective had ever once stood there.

He never looked back.

Author's Note: If some of Sherlock's monologues, for lack of a better term, get a little garbled, especially the one with the Doctor in the Tardis, I apologize I know some the sentences got kinda long, but, hopefully you could still understand.. Feel free to PM if you have suggestions of how to make Sherlock make more sense, if that is at all possible. Or, if there was anything else you wanted to add, suggest, or recommend, again, PM, review, or… something along those lines.

-Hawk197


End file.
